Picture Perfect (Butler Island) (19 page)

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, I think so”, she whispered
before pressing her lips against his.

“Thank you for tonight”, he confessed
as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “It couldn’t have been more
perfect.”

“I feel the same way”, she uttered
softly.

Standing up, he reached for his navy
T-shirt and put it back on. After planting one last kiss on her voluptuous pink
lips, he promised to call her the following morning, and then turned toward the
door.

When she was finally alone, she
released a gratifying sigh. Tonight had been perfect. In fact, she couldn’t
wait to close her eyes tonight and relive each tantalizing moment again in her
dreams…

But first, she needed to start the
dishwasher.

Reluctantly, she stood from the couch
again and gathered the two bowls. She ambled toward the sink, rinsing them
first before placing them in the dishwasher. She’d just started the cycle when
she suddenly heard a knock at the door.

She smiled as she pivoted, her heart
racing at the thought of Grant coming back to satisfy their desire again.
“Forget something?” she shouted as she untwisted the lock.

But when she opened the front door,
it wasn’t Grant.

In front of her stood a tall,
muscular man
dressed in black, his face
shielded by a dark ski mask…

CHAPTER 15

Olivia’s gut twisted like a pretzel
the moment she opened the door to find the masked arsonist standing before her.
And then her adrenaline kicked-in. She shoved the door, but it was too late.
The intruder had anticipated her move and had already placed his hands in front
of him to catch it; then he lunged forward.

RUN!

If she could make it into the kitchen
and grab her cell phone on the counter, she could exit through the French doors
and lock herself in the darkroom…

Pivoting, she sprinted toward the
bar. She made it halfway before the masked man grabbed a handful of her hair
and yanked her back toward him.

“Where do you think you’re going,
Blondie?”
 He
asked.

Olivia raised her arms, trying to
disentangle his fingers from her hair as he hauled her to the living room like
a cavewoman. She kicked her legs, attempting to get back on her feet, but he
was pulling her too quickly. A piercing scream fled her mouth—but that only
made him tug harder.

When he finally had her in the living
room, he launched her body forward. She gasped in agony as her right side
collided against the glass-top coffee table, her body landing on a blanket of
shattered glass.

She tried to stand up—tried to get
away. Once she was on all fours, the mysterious man picked her up as though she
weighed nothing, and then tossed her onto the red leather couch.

It was hard to breathe. Her ribs had
struck the table first, taking the brunt of the impact. She knew they were most
likely broken, but ironically she didn’t feel the pain—there was too much
adrenaline coursing through her veins. He came down on top of her, straddling
her abdomen to keep her from running away.

I don’t want to die—not like this!

She knew she had to fight back.

With her arms flailing about and her
legs kicking, she wriggled beneath him trying to set herself free. But he was
so much stronger than her. By pure luck, her fist landed against his left
temple. The thick knit material of his ski mask cushioned much of the blow, but
she prayed it was enough to make him realize she was not giving up.

“You fucking bitch!”

His hands clamped down on her wrists.
He raised her arms over her head, holding them in place with a firm grip. And
when he was able to pin her flailing limbs with his vice-like grasp, he reared
back with his gloved, free hand and slapped her across the face. The impact
forced her head to the side, her cheek on fire as though she’d been stung by a
hundred bees.

“Now that I have your undivided
attention, tell me where your camera is.”

“Fuck you!” she yelled.

Olivia clenched her eyes shut as he
reared his hand again. She expected him to slap her like he had moments
earlier, but he didn’t. Instead, his closed fist struck her mouth. Warm liquid
exploded from her lips, the distinct metallic taste of blood on her tongue.

Arms pinned above her head, she
opened her eyes to find he was inches away from her face.

“Maybe some other time”,
he whispered
as his free hand copped a feel of one of her breasts.

Refusing to fall victim to the masked
intruder any longer, she bucked and twisted her body, convulsing until she
managed somehow to wriggle free. She rolled off the couch and then quickly
planted her feet to run away.

This was harder than he’d thought it
would be. She was tough. When he pushed, she pushed right back. No way was she
going to give up, he acknowledged.

As soon as she’d made it to her feet,
she’d lunged toward the kitchen. He couldn’t let her get away.

 
He had to get his hands on that
camera and any photos she may have already developed.

And he refused to leave without them.

He reached for the silver metal vase
beside him on the end table and just like he’d done in high school as the
quarterback of the football team, he launched the heavy vase toward the back of
her fleeing head.

She could see her phone on the
bar—just a few more strides and she could call for help.

WHACK.

Misery unlike anything she’d ever
felt before radiated from the back of her head, her vision obscured by floating
bright lights.  Her legs collapsed beneath her as though she’d been
tranquilized, her body landing just shy of the slate tile in the kitchen.

Touchdown…

 
Slowly he ambled toward her,
the nasty gash on the crown of her head bleeding profusely, signifying the end
to their struggle. He knelt down beside her and listened as she groaned in
unyielding agony. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He didn’t want to hurt
her, but he needed to cover his tracks. Because if he didn’t, it was only a
matter of time before the police came knocking on his door, and even jail couldn’t
save him from the wrath his bookie would unleash.

He scanned the room and immediately
noticed the camera on the opposite side of the bar near the range top.
Standing, he stepped over her battered body and reached for it.

“I sure am sorry ‘bout all this,
Blondie”,
he
said as he quickly cased the rest of the house for more incriminating pictures.
“Things would’ve turned out much better for you if you’d only cooperated.”

Satisfied that he’d collected what he
came for, he knelt down beside her again, placing his lips inches away from her
ear for emphasis.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful: pose that pretty lil’
ass in front of the camera instead of sneaking around, taking pictures of me.
Stay out of my way or next time, things might not turn out so well for you…”

Quietly, he stood up and walked to
the front door, but before he turned the knob, he had one last bit of advice:
“Consider
yourself warned.”

Olivia awoke on the floor. The moment
she opened her eyes, raw, unbearable pain consumed her. She wasn’t aware how
long she’d been lying there, but she did know she needed to get help.

She attempted to get up, but her
extremities felt like overcooked noodles. Although her vision was blurred, she
scanned the room and suddenly remembered the horrific attack she’d endured. The
living room looked as though a tornado had rushed past: broken glass littered
the hardwood floor, books had fallen from the shelf adjacent to the TV. And she
couldn’t overlook the obvious: she was lying in a puddle of her own blood.

What if her attacker was still here?
How on earth would she find the strength to fight back?

A wave of nausea came over her.

She was so tired. Weak.

Her body ached and her head
threatened to explode. She dragged her body several feet through the agonizing
pain.

Her eyelids were heavy.

Her body went limp.

And then, darkness…

Ty whistled as he shut the mailbox,
flipping through the various pieces of junk mail while he strolled to the front
door. Last night had been a good night at the station. He’d been able to sleep
without interruption, the arsonist clearly taking a night off from his quest to
torch the town, one random building at a time.

Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed
his keys. Having lived here for the past eighteen years, he wasn’t used to
locking his front door. Butler Island was probably one of the safest places in
America—nothing ever happened here. But with Olivia back in town, she’d
insisted. She’d lived in New Orleans basically since she’d graduated college
and although the famous city had an overall false reputation for high crime, it
certainly wasn’t a place one would forego precautionary measures.

Tucking the negligible mail under his
arm, he fumbled with his keys until he came upon the correct one. Holding it
between his thumb and first finger, he raised his hand to insert it into the
lock, and then paused—

The door was cracked open several
inches.

He had to admit the discovery was a
bit odd; Olivia was adamant about locking the door—especially the nights she
stayed here alone when he was on shift. But maybe she was finally beginning to
realize how silly the whole thing was; breaking  and entering was about as
likely here as a white Christmas.

Ty nudged the door open, ready to
give his baby sister a hard time about her blunder, when he stumbled into a
home in complete disarray.

Books had fallen from the shelves,
one of the table lamps had crashed to the ground, and a thick layer of glass
scattered the floor around the coffee table.

“Olivia!” he
shouted as he dropped the
meaningless mail from his arm. He came around the sofa, panic coursing through
his veins as he acknowledged the struggle that’d taken place.

And that’s when he saw it.

In two swift strides, Ty lunged
toward the puddle of blood in front of the bar and followed the smeared trail
further into the kitchen. Olivia’s battered body lay motionless on the cold
slate tile.

 
“Holy shit, Olivia!”
he cried
as he collapsed by her side.

Unaware of the extent of her
injuries, he checked for a pulse…

She was alive!

“Olivia, can you hear me?” His
training as a paramedic taught him not to move potential victims until their
head and neck could be secured. She’d clearly suffered head trauma, the blood
saturating her hair evidence of that.

He heard a raw groan escape her as
she awoke. “Don’t move, baby girl”, he uttered as he reached into his pocket
for his cell phone. After dialing 911, exchanging the necessary information on
her condition, he covered the receiver with his free hand. Olivia was suddenly
conscience and obviously disoriented as she attempted to raise her head.

“It’s alright, baby girl, you’re safe
now.”

“Ty?”
she asked in
a voice so weak, she wondered if she’d spoken aloud or merely imagined it.

“That’s right,
I’m here. You’re gonna be
alright. I just need you to be still for a few more minutes until we can secure
your head and neck to the backboard.”

“I’m hurtin’, Ty.”

“I know. Just a few more minutes and
we’ll have you lying in a comfortable bed with medication to take away the
pain.”

And then the search would begin for
the sick bastard that did this to her. He just better hope the police found him
before Ty did…

CHAPTER 16

Shifting his weight in the chair, Ty
removed his wallet from his back pocket and laid it on the tray next to
Olivia’s hospital bed. He’d been listening while his little sister repeated the
story of her brutal attack for the third time to the detective in the room,
each time his gut twisted, his hands clenched, and his heart ached.

What kind of man attacked a helpless
woman?

A monster.

A monster that sets fires and stops
at nothing to silence potential witnesses to his crimes; a devilish beast that
lacked compassion; a soulless coward terrified of punishment.